All the Things That Keep Us Here
by Kallie49
Summary: Trying to settle back in to normal life on the Enterprise after the Borg attack, Picard shares a quiet dinner with Beverly following his return home from La Barre. Post-ep for "Family." P/C friendship, stays with canon. One-shot.


_A/N: "Family" is in my top five episodes of TNG, as I love all three storylines, but one conspicuously absent connection tying them together is any scene with Picard and Crusher, either before or after the events of the episode. So, here is my "missing scene" for the episode, set just after Picard returns to the ship and meets Worf's parents. P/C friendship, stays with canon. Feedback is, as always, gratefully welcomed._

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_You have to learn to live with it. Live with it below the sea with Louis, or above the clouds with the _Enterprise_..._

The carpet was soft-padded, the quarters cool and air-conditioned, the ambient hum of the computer barely audible. Outside the sloping, transparent aluminum windows, the encompassing blackness of space was broken only by the distant outline of the gibbous Moon.

This was home; in the end, it was the place he truly belonged, the place to which he had chosen to return.

So why did this slight unease persist?

Jean-Luc Picard set his travel bag on the bed and turned back towards the replicator in the living room, then hesitated a moment. After everything that had just transpired, after being away from the ship for nearly a week, perhaps he should take this time for himself, reaccustom himself to being home. Despite the fact that he'd returned to the ship in uniform, after all, he wasn't due back on the bridge until morning. Yet he felt strangely moved to be in company. Not with the counselor, dear as she was to him, for she would almost undoubtedly seek to analyze his feelings—but rather, simply, with a _friend_. There were, perhaps, precious few on the ship that he could count among this number, and of those, to visit without invitation? Well—really only one or two. And while it wasn't _customary_ for him to do so…perhaps it was time to start changing that, with one person in particular.

Before he could allow himself to question the decision overmuch, he headed out of his quarters and down the corridor, and pressed the chime at her door.

"Come in," came the distracted reply. As the doors opened, he saw Wesley Crusher, dressed in casual clothes, jump to attention from where he'd been sitting on the couch. "Captain Picard."

Of course the young man would also be here; why hadn't he expected it? There was no way around the awkwardness, but Picard lifted one hand and forced a smile. "At ease, Mister Crusher. Is your mother in?"

Wesley relaxed his posture. "Yes, sir. I'll let her know you're here."

"Wes?" Before Wesley could move, Beverly Crusher emerged from the far bedroom and then stopped in mild surprise of her own, her eyes locking with Picard's. He could see her quick, careful evaluation. "Captain. Is everything all right?"

Wesley was regarding him cautiously as well. Picard grimaced and tugged on his uniform tunic. This wasn't quite the reception he'd hoped to receive, but he realized now that hope had been ill-founded. _Everyone_ onboard had been more cautious around him over the past weeks since the battle, since his recovery. It could only be expected that an apparent change to his usual behavior would be met with concern. "Yes, I just returned from shore leave and thought I'd stop by."

Beverly accepted the explanation with aplomb. "Are you hungry for dinner? You're welcome to join us."

"Actually, I was just about to go meet Data in Ten-Forward," Wesley volunteered, scooting past—much to the captain's relief. He'd just spent a rather enjoyable time with his younger nephew on Earth, but hadn't exactly intended—nor did he really know _how_—to spend such time with the ensign. "See you later, Mom. Sir."

Both sets of eyes followed him, waiting until the doors had closed behind him. Beverly exhaled then and spoke into the pregnant pause. "Welcome back, Jean-Luc," she said quietly.

"Thank you."

"How did the visit go? It's been a long time for you, hasn't it?"

"Yes, a very long time. I wasn't sure what to expect. Well, I expected Robert would still be difficult, and he was." She smiled at that, and he continued, "But Marie and René were wonderful, truly."

"I'm so glad to hear that." Beverly moved to the replicator and ordered two meals for them.

Not entirely at ease yet, Picard crossed the room slowly, glancing around, eyes alighting on a case on her desk. A knot formed in his stomach as he saw the printed name on top: _Lt. Cmdr. Jack R. Crusher._

Setting the plates on the dining table with a _clink_, Beverly looked up and followed his gaze. A momentary silence fell before she gave a tiny smile. "I had it sent up from storage last week," she offered.

"Ah." He found he didn't know what else to say, and cursed himself mentally. Why was this so difficult? What was wrong with him that he couldn't speak normally with her about his old friend, when she clearly didn't mind? _Because it's someone else whose death I'm responsible for. Someone else I've hurt. _It was old guilt, but mixed with new, and it was too fresh, these wounds inflicted by the Borg still too tender. _So many..._ He took a half-step backwards. "Beverly, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," he murmured.

"Jean-Luc." He met her blue eyes, finding not the dreaded pity, nor even reproach, but only kindness. "Please, sit down. It's really all right."

He nodded, feeling the knot begin to unravel in light of her assurance. "Right. Thank you."

They took their seats and began to eat in companionable quiet, and he gradually relaxed, savored the welcome _normalcy_ of it. So much of the past month he'd struggled merely to _survive_, fearing he might never make it back to ordinary moments like this. Being home with family had helped more than he could have known. Being _home_—here, on the _Enterprise_—was the next step, and he was glad Beverly had insisted that he stay.

Reaching for a drink, though, he found he was unconsciously comparing the glass of wine to the excellent vintages he'd been imbibing from his brother's vineyard. And the food—the steak was perfectly seared, the roasted vegetables lightly seasoned, and it all tasted fine, but even as he enjoyed it, Picard couldn't help but think of the delicious meals his sister-in-law had prepared over the past few days.

Beverly noted his expression. "Back to the replicator, eh?"

He shook himself out of the momentary reverie and returned her wry look. "I've never held to my brother's ways. It's ridiculous and narrow-minded of him to reject all the advances of modern society."

"But?" she prompted.

"But," he admitted ruefully, "Marie's cooking was extraordinary."

She held up a forkful of potatoes and scrutinized it. "So maybe there's something to be said for the old ways, after all."

He shrugged and took a sip of water. "Perhaps. It's an old argument between us, but I suppose we came to...an understanding."

"So you're not tempted to give all this up and return to the land?" she teased lightly.

His pause was just long enough that she noticed, even as he shook his head again. "Hmm? No, of course not. I'm hardly suited for it."

Beverly took another bite of her steak and studied him. "_I _thought about it," she said quietly, letting her gaze drift over to the case on her desk. "After Jack died."

"You?" He started as he understood her meaning. "Leaving Starfleet?"

"Yes. Taking Wesley and starting up a nice, stable practice on Earth, or maybe Caldos with my grandmother, far away from all the risk and danger."

His interest was piqued. "I didn't know that."

"It just seemed...safer."

"What changed your mind?" He looked at her keenly. "Why did you apply for the _Enterprise_ posting?"

"I couldn't leave Starfleet. It meant too much to me, all I'd worked for, believed in. I did keep to a starbase posting for awhile, of course. But the opportunity to serve on the flagship, with you," and she gestured, "well, part of me just figured...the worst had already happened, and I _survived_ it, and I didn't want to let fear stop me."

"Starfleet would have lost a fine officer." He hesitated, added more: "I'm glad you stayed."

She looked at him steadily. "I'm glad you're staying, too."

Picard shifted in his chair. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"Jean-Luc, the Borg…" She trailed off, chewed the inside of her lip, and he was surprised to realize she _had_ thought he might leave, even though he had never consciously contemplated so much as the possibility until Louis made him the job offer in La Barre.

"I've been cleared for duty," he pointed out. "You said so yourself." Even as he said it, he knew the protest sounded weak.

"Of course. I'm only saying…" She tilted her head, auburn hair brushing against her shoulder, and asked softly, "You did consider it, though, didn't you? What happened?"

He sighed and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, relenting. "An old friend of mine, Louis Blanchard, offered me a position," he admitted. "Continental terraforming—well, the details don't really matter. It was an intriguing project, would have meant a challenging, and _stable_, career here on Earth."

"No one would have blamed you for saying yes, Jean-Luc."

He shook his head. "To leave Starfleet altogether would feel like—admitting defeat. After everything—I couldn't let _them_ win."

"The Borg didn't win. You beat them."

"Perhaps." On impulse, he extended a hand across the table, and with a thoughtful look, she took it. Her hand was warm and he relaxed at the rare connection, reflecting in silence for a moment. He was grateful to know, in a way he hadn't realized before, that she understood the dilemma he'd faced, and the fear. But no, he couldn't have left the _Enterprise_. Left his friends. Left _her_.

Because she had fought for him. Deanna, Data, Worf, Will, Robert—they'd all done so very much for him. But Beverly, even beyond that—she'd _fought_. To rescue him, to restore his health, to recover the humanity violently stripped from him by the inhuman force of the Collective. As his doctor, as his _friend_, through the multiple surgeries, the terrifying nightmares, the painful recovery, she had been with him. He'd hated being so vulnerable, so _weak_, but she'd stayed closest to him, always providing her support, never letting him fall into the abyss. They hadn't spoken of it, but he realized now that he wanted her to know he didn't take any of it—didn't take her, or her friendship—for granted.

He took a breath, considering how to say it. "Beverly, you were strong enough to survive on your own," he said at last. "But I am not too proud to admit that _I_ could not have done so alone. If I ever doubted, I know now this is where I belong. I also know that I wouldn't be here without you."

Evidently touched, Beverly held his earnest gaze for a moment, her lovely features softening as she absorbed the full meaning behind his words, and then she smiled. "Well. You're welcome," she said softly.

He squeezed her hand once, fondly, and then released it. "So. Back to work, then?"

"I guess so." Her smile widened. "It's good to have you back, _Captain_. Thanks for coming for dinner."

Matching her warm expression, Picard took a sip to finish his glass of wine. "Thank you for having me, Doctor. Perhaps we can do this again sometime?"

"Definitely." She paused, a thought stopping her. "I do usually have dinner with Wes, though."

"I don't mean to impose on your routine, of course," he hastened to correct himself.

"No, it's all right." She considered for a moment as they rose from the table and strolled towards the door, then she turned towards him. "I'm usually on my own in the morning. What about breakfast? Would that be odd?"

"Not at all. I usually only have morning tea, but you're quite welcome to join me if you'd like."

Beverly looked pleased with the suggestion. "Make it coffee, and that sounds wonderful. How about tomorrow at 0630?"

"Tomorrow," he agreed warmly, and he felt the kind of confidence that came with the knowledge that one _belonged_—in a certain place, in a certain role, with certain people—and he thought: _Yes, it's good to be home_.


End file.
